My Billionaire Boss (Book 2)(Erotic Romance) Read online

  “Remember the rules,” Chloe instructs as we drive through the Boston traffic. She seems to have the pattern down for driving in Boston: stop, go, honk, finger, and go anyway. “Answer only direct questions. Don’t offer information. If he asks about Philly the answer is you were overwhelmed by the response to your idea. If he asks about drugs tell him that you are not here to address egregious rumors.”

  “What’s that word? What meaning?” August asks me, digging in the folds of his suit for a pen. I can tell he wants to write it in the composition notebook clutched nervously in his hand.

  “Egregious, August. It means without any evidence or facts. Ridiculously wrong,” I say helpfully, wondering if I should spell it for him then deciding to let it go. I don’t want to make him feel like a child.

  “But, those are facts,” he says looking at Chloe instead of me. “I was on drugs and I could have died. I took Miss Carrie’s card and I bought the drugs. I don’t want to lie to Mr. Davis. Words don’t like to be used as lies. They are clean and clear and they want to fly free of human grime.”

  “We talked about this already, August.” Chloe grits her teeth. “Remember what Mr. Eliott said about truth and lies?”

  “Sometimes, you have to tell a lie to tell the truth,” August nods as if pulling this sentence from a secured file in his mind.

  “Why can’t he just tell the truth if he wants?” I ask, knowing the answer.

  Chloe rolls her eyes. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a caterer.”

  “Oh. A caterer. Well, let’s say you had a client who wanted you to use Pepsi instead of milk in your cheesecake, because that’s the way he liked it. Would you do that for his event?”

  “No,” I mumble. I’ve clearly become a hostile witness for the prosecution.

  “Why? Because even if it tasted right to that client, it would taste wrong to everyone else.”

  “I get it.” I cross my arms and look out the window. Only in Boston could a 7 block ride take long enough for this conversation to happen. August nods to Chloe, showing her he understands and will obey the directive. Always the sweet boy, eager to please.

  Fortunately, the interview with Jordan goes much more smoothly than the ride to his hotel. Marcus gives people the impression they need to stand up straight and meet his high expectations. Jordan has that way of making everyone feel super comfortable and accepted. Not ten minutes into his interview August has taken the oversized jacket off and draped it over a chair in the room set up for our visit.

  “The Boston reading is more conventional,” August reports. “The experiment in Philadelphia was a great success, due to Miss Carrie’s beautiful reading, but for this city — which is more traditional — a normal author reading is scheduled.”

  I marvel at the confidence August shows in his statement. Just last night Marcus, August and I fought all the way through dinner about this topic. August wanted to do all the readings with the Philly formula - August pretending (for real, this time) to sleep and me reading the words in his ear. Marcus wouldn’t stand for it.

  “I love the way Carrie reads,” Marcus told the young man while running his foot up my calf under the table. “But, this is your reading, and you need to do it. Besides, the element of surprise was the main reason we got out of that jam, and with Bookfeed broadcasting about it all week, no one will be surprised now.”

  “I don’t want to read. I...I’ve never done it this way,” August confessed.

  “Auggie, I’ve seen you read a dozen times!” Marcus leans back in his chair, playing up the paternal role he has taken in the young man’s life.

  “Not sober! Not clean. I need something more than those vitamins and methadone shots Dr. DeLong is handing out if I am going to sit in front of hundreds of people and give them the words. The words are fragile. They need someone stronger to speak them. Someone not afraid.”

  I see a red shade developing under Marcus’ starched white collar and jump in to save the day.

  “August, I know it must be very frightening for you right now. I’ve never been on drugs, but I was married to my high school sweetheart and he turned into my worst nightmare. When he left me, I had never been alone before. Everything seemed so big, so scary. Then I realized it was also exciting. I made a new life, and found new loves. I’m not saying you’re going to start loving public reading but you’ve got to face those fears and give it a try.”

  Miracle of miracles! He agreed. Now I sit here in awe of his bravado as he brags to Jordan about his plans for the reading, and the fact Philly was just a one-time thing.

  Jordan asks the expected questions and lets the ethereal author ramble about words and motion, gifted phrases and his own tragic history of neglect and discovery. When Jordan asks about the presence of drugs on the tour August feeds him the lines surely written by Marcus or another Eliott House scribe. He talks about it as a “past” issue and is very sad it has become a focus of the new book and tour. Jordan uses several words in the interview that August writes down in his notebook, something that delights Jordan to no end.

  “Ms. Miller is going to be here a while, if you want to take August back to his hotel for a rest,” Jordan tells Chloe. You can see she’s nervous about the whole idea but August looks like he is about to disintegrate like the Wicked Witch of the West after a bath.

  I sit down on the couch trying to remember that the rhythm of breathing is a steady cadence of in and out so I don’t hyperventilate at the first question. He sits across from me, the camera and lighting umbrella making the suite seem far more intimidating than normal. The questions are direct and easy to answer — Am I enjoying the tour? What was it like to be on the stage with August? What is August like when the cameras aren’t on? Do I think the book will be a success? Just when I feel like I’ve got a handle on this interview stuff he jumps up and turns the camera off, taking the time to put it in a case and remove the lighting.

  “Show’s over,” he chuckles. I prepare to stand and leave, feeling dumb for dressing up for such a cut and dry session. Then, he sits down beside me on the couch. Oh. My. Gosh.

  “Well, Carrie, the camera is gone, the questions are asked and now I’d like to talk to you a little more personally,” he says, spreading his open arm on the couch back.

  “About August?” I ask instantly. Marcus has us all so paranoid.

  “About you,” he responds, giving his signature smile. “Or, more specifically, about you and me.”

  “What?” Am I hallucinating again? Even when I was pretend kissing him I didn’t imagine anything this wonderful.

  “I like you a lot, Carrie. You have all the qualities I think are amazing. You’re smart, self-sufficient, pretty and ...well...don’t take this the wrong way — you’re normal.”

  “Normal,” I nod, taking it all in. “Who on earth could take that the wrong way?”

  “I mean, you’re not one of the supermodels Eliott House parades around. You’ve seen them — assistants, chauffeurs, and attendants. He’s a walking mannequin catalogue. Hell, I heard the woman who works on his private jet was once the hand model for Tiffany’s. But you’re different. I’ve been watching you. You’re real, in the best of all possible ways.”

  “Thank you, Jordan. I ...well...I have been watching you too. For longer than this tour. I log in to Bookfeed every night. You can check my account! I won that “Constant Reader” certificate more than once.”

  “Well, Bookfeed does love our ‘Constant Readers’ and we do like to give them perks.” He chuckles. “How’d you like a shot at the grand prize?”

  “Which is?” I’m so lost in his eyes, all the words he says bend around the corners of my head until I can’t really tell what’s fact and what’s fantasy.

  “Make love to me,” he says.

  “WHAT?” I jump a little too high and ask a little too loud.

  “Go out with me,” he repeats. Not quite as exciting as the comment my libido supplied, but it’s a start. “We could have a lot of fun, see th
e sights, eat every cuisine in the world and make beautiful love in the setting sunlight. You know, stuff like that.”

  “Be serious. It’s bad enough I admit I have a school girl crush on you, now you’re just teasing me.” I wave him off even though my heart is beating so loudly Jordan probably hears it more than my words.

  “I am serious,” he says. His vocal tone loses all the snide edges and he looks me straight in the eye. I know my smile is lighting up the room brighter than the camera lighting managed to do, but I can’t help it. This tour has gone from the stuff of nightmares to the ship of dreams all in one conversation.

  “But, you barely know me,” I protest. That’s me. Carrie Miller - the girl who got a winning lottery ticket and set it on fire trying to verify its validity. I know Percy and the divorce are the seeds of this paranoia, but the vine is choking the life out of me.

  “I was attracted to you the moment you walked into Marcus’ office with the tea box, and I’ve watched you on this tour. You’re probably the only reason poor August Kalle hasn’t thrown himself off a bridge. I liked you, but Dagney is pretty good at digging up the dirt and she said you were more than the caterer. She said you and Marcus were cooking up something hot.”

  “I think Dagney is good at making up dirt,” I say, completely ignoring the fact everything she told him was correct.

  “She’s a friend,” he proclaims sternly enough for me to hear the real message loud and clear: “back off.”

  A million pictures flash through my mind all at once. I see Marcus making me laugh, looking at me with eyes that shine when he compliments me, and making love to me while I gasp in pleasure. I see Percy, laying in a bed full of people we used to call friends, naked, telling me to “catch up with the times” and laughing at my horror when I discovered his “swinging lifestyle.” I see Adam, before he joined the religious group, banging on my car window asking why he can’t live with me. I see the letter he sent, damning me to hell for forcing him to stay in his father’s debauched circle. Even after I set that thing on fire, I still see his brutal words. I see August, so frightened of living without the crutch of drugs, so innocent in a world that only wants to use him. Tomorrow, August will face his fear. Today, I need to face mine.

  Leaning forward I wrap my arms around Jordan’s shoulders and kiss him deeply. All the nights I fantasized about him, my hand between my legs rubbing tight circles as I chant his name, are going to be made real. All the arm kisses, fantasy conversations and flowers I’ve placed on tables and pretended he bought for me will materialize as a mighty real time love. I can’t hide myself behind the apron anymore. I open my mouth to him, accepting his lips, pushing and pulsing. It is a first kiss like no other. He pulls away barely able to breathe.

  “Wow,” he says, blinking and wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “You are something else.”

  “Thanks,” I say, hoping my smile is telegraphing “there’s more where that came from” and not “I have no freaking idea what I just did.”

  “Does August kiss like that? Or are his kisses light like butterfly wings?”

  “I have no idea how August kisses,” I reply, confused. “I’m an assistant, that’s all. I listen to him, make sure he’s where he needs to be, and help him with new words. That’s all.”

  “Oh, I though Marcus hired you to keep him happy — you know — happy in the sacky.” Jordan winks at me and his face changes from the visage of the chipper intellectual founder of Bookfeed to a lecherous sneering pervert.

  “I am not a whore,” I reply coolly, wondering if that kiss was a huge mistake. “I don’t get paid to make any man ‘happy in the sacky’ and I never will.” I rise to leave.

  “No! Don’t go.” Jordan puts his hand on my leg and encourages me to stay seated. “Dagney suggested that might be a reason he picked a caterer to be Kalle’s assistant. That’s all. I was just feeling out a story angle. Clearly, she’s wrong. Don’t hold her gossip mongering against me. Please.”

  Jordan reaches out and puts his hand under my chin, pulling my face back to him for another kiss. This time he leads. The warmth of his lips against mine and the way he holds me sends chills everywhere they should go. I always read crushes were good because they gave you energy, but they are nothing like the real thing. He runs his fingers through my hair, then as we separate he traces the scar that runs down my ear and jaw.

  “Skiing accident,” I confess. “I hope Dagney didn’t tell you I was in the mafia or something.”

  “No,” he chuckled. “She didn’t mention it. But, I know a great plastic surgeon who might be able to take the edge off it.”

  It strikes me that all the time we’ve been together, Marcus, the billionaire publisher, has never offered to get my scar fixed. Yet, Jordan is all about seeing it smoothed over.

  “Look,” I say, figuring out the dynamic between Jordan, Marcus and the tour is too much for me to process at one time. “We can date. After the tour. I’ve got too many obligations to August to make time for a new love. And, since you’ve sworn to ruin Marcus, it’s probably not the best thing for anyone if I’m caught with you. There’s only a week after tomorrow night’s reading. Let’s just do our jobs and once the book is launched, I can come up to New York and we can start fresh.”

  “I know in my head that you’re right, Carrie.” Jordan flashes that signature Bookfeed smile that melts me to the core. “But, my heart doesn’t want to wait a week.”

  Jordan takes my hand and guides it to his lap where his stiff member is straining against his pants.

  “I don’t think that’s your heart,” I say dryly, but manage to caress him all the same. “And, it’s only a week. Your head and your heart will both make it.”

  He kisses me again, this time avoiding my scar and instead wrapping his hand around the back of my head. He pulls me so impossibly close I feel like he could swallow me through a deep kiss and I’d never be heard from again. He pulls back just long enough to get a sentence out.

  “If I can’t have you for a week, maybe you can leave me a deposit,” he croons. One hand goes down to unzip his pants, while he begins pushing my head down with the other. I pull back against the pressure. “Don’t worry, Carrie. I’ll leave one for you too.”

  I shift on the sofa, leaning down to lick the back of his shaft. His penis is already purple with desire and pre-cum. He really wants me. He stops pushing me for a moment and caresses my ears as my tongue rises up the length of him then my mouth wraps itself around the head. I lick the tip, short circuiting any further discussion as his nerve endings catch on fire.

  My mind is also exploding. I can’t believe how lucky I am. Me. Carrie Miller. I’m getting to suck the cock of the book world’s power broker. All those women who read his blog everyday imagining what he might look like under those Dockers have nothing on me. I’ve got the salty, beautiful taste of him filling my mouth. Wrapping my newly manicured fingers around his base, I begin moving my mouth up and down in rhythm with my hand, listening to the melody of his moans.

  “Yesssss,” he hisses, his neck back and his eyes closed. “Suck my dick, yes….”

  I can’t escape the crudeness that presents itself with Jordan. It marks him as different from Marcus who would never dream of pushing my head down to his crotch. And yet, if Jordan is a common man, then I am his common lover, lapping and licking him with pleasure as my only goal. It doesn’t take long for him to climax, sighing his pleasure loudly.

  He leans over as if to kiss me, then whispers in my ear. “Tell me you wanted that.”

  “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” I bubble like a teen at the prom, licking my lips to encourage his excitement. He rewards me by reaching under my skirt, his hand cupping my outer lips. I open my legs wider, wondering if my mind can even take the sensation of Jordan’s tongue in my folds.

  SLAM the outer door to the hotel closes with a bang.

  “Wait ‘til you see the bombshell I’ve got prepared for New York. It will put Vineyard and Bookfee
d on the top. It will go viral in thirty minutes!” Dagney Van Der Vine says to the intern stationed by the door.

  Jordan jerks his hand away from my body as if he touched a hot stove. “Straighten up,” he growls zipping his pants and jumping off the couch. I do the same.

  “Dag, this is Carrie Miller, August Kalle’s assistant,” Jordan says, way too formally. I expect the woman famous for calling out the secrets and lies of superstars to instantly know what happened and pull out a microphone, but she just shrugs indifferently.

  “Hello, Carrie,” she says, reaching out to shake my hand. The awareness that the last thing my hand touched was Jordan’s member pounds in my head as I wrap it around her cold, boney fingers.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” I say. It’s weird seeing celebrities in person. On the web or TV they look so stunningly beautiful, but in real life their features seem overly large - exaggerated angles, huge eyes and lips that glare out.